The sporting chance

								

the past.
To himself Mostyn muttered: "Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof."

CHAPTER II.
MOSTYN SEES THE DERBY.
An hour before the big race Mostyn stood in the Paddock, by the side
of his mentor, and pretended to pass a critical eye upon the horses
generally, and upon Hipponous in particular.
The second favourite was a chestnut with three white stockings.  His
mane had been hogged, and he had--for a racehorse--an unusually large
tail.  Tyro as he was, Mostyn could understand the value of the large
roomy flanks and magnificent barrel, and as the colt picked its way
delicately round the circle, sweating slightly from excitement and
glancing intelligently from side to side, it seemed as if he
appreciated the fact that it was Derby Day, and realised the
magnitude of the task before him.
A kaleidoscopic crowd surged round the horse, a crowd that Mostyn
failed to understand till Royce explained that the "open sesame" to
the Paddock could be obtained by the payment of a sovereign, which
accounted for the general rubbing of shoulders and absence of class
distinction.
Scraps of conversation, indistinctly overheard, amused, astonished,
and perhaps instructed, him.  There was a portly woman with a red
face and a large feather hat, who pushed her way to the front, and
said wheezingly to a thin little man at her side: "'Ullo, 'ere's
Black Diamond."
"No, it ain't," responded her companion.  "Look at the number.
That's 'Ippernouse.  He won the Middle Park Plate when I 'ad a dollar
on 'im, and I'm going to put a couple o' quid on 'im to-day."
"I'll back Black Diamond," returned the fat woman, "because my first
husband kept a small public called the 'Lord Napier' up past the
'Nag's Head' before we were married, and Black Diamond belongs to
Lord Napier, so that's good enough for my money."
They drifted away and their place was taken by a couple of
shrewd-looking club-men in long covert cloaks and bowler hats, with
glasses slung over their shoulders.  Mostyn heard one of them say to
the other in an undertone: "Here's Hipponous.  Look at his
magnificent quarters.  Don't forget to wire off immediately to Cork
if he wins, and tell Dickson that I'll take the colt he has in his
stables, brother to Hipponous, and if he throws the mare in I'll pay
two thousand guineas for the pair."
This was business, and presently Mostyn heard business of another
kind.  "I like the looks of 'Ippernous," said a loudly dressed
individual with white hat and check waistcoat--obviously a
book-maker--to his clerk.  "We can't afford to let him run loose, and
I'll put fifty on for the book."
The remarks, however, were not all appreciative.  There was a tall
man with a vacant stare and a monocle, who was drawling out his
comments to a well-dressed woman at his side.  "Not an earthly, my
dear.  Don't waste your money on Hipponous.  The favourite can't
possibly lose.  Algy told me at the club last night that he had laid